You
by foxredwinter
Summary: Frustration, a journal, and a revelation. Fifteen years after they first met, they fully undestand each other.


_Disclaimer: All that you know is not mine. I am merely playing with all that is Rowling's when I should be sleeping._

**_YOU_**

"That's it! No more! They can all just rot for all I care! They do not know me! For fifteen years I have had people declare that they know me. They have read about me in the Quibbler. They have read about me in the Prophet. They have listened to the gossip that flew through Hogwarts. They have listened through the gossip that flies through the Ministry. They have listened to the gossip that flies through St. Mungo's. They watch me as I shop. They watch me as I eat. They watch me as I try to live my life. They judge me for what I do. What book am I buying? What food do I eat? Who do I see? Who do I avoid? What film do I watch? What shop do I visit? What color do I wear? How short is my skirt? How long is my hair? They like me. They hate me. They think I am their friend. Every move I make is recorded, talked about, critiqued.

If all the world's a stage, then I have my part well rehearsed. I am the healer. I am the solver of your problems. I am the responsible one. I am the one that knows the answer. I am the one they knew would make a lovely toast at the Wedding of the Century. I am the one Ginny knew would keep her calm on the most important day of her life. I was the one who could hear everyone's anxieties. I was the one who could find the answer to the Trio's problems in a book. I was the one who went to the ball with Viktor. I was the one who turned out to be a girl. I was the one who others laughed at because of my blood. I am the one who is always proving herself, long after the battle was won. I am the one who doubts she is good enough.

They see me every day. They say their hellos and good-byes. They have their lunches with me and drink a pint at the Cauldron with me. They discuss spells and charms with me. They think they have me pegged.

They know I am a know-it-all. They know that I like routine and order. They know that I have a bit of a temper at times, but it only comes out rarely. They know I prefer to have tranquility. They know I am bright. They know I helped to save the Wizarding World. They know they know me."

Hermione threw down her quill. She left her journal open on her desk. She was due to meet her friends soon. It was time to change and venture back forth into the world that was frustrating her. People claim they want to be famous and wish that everyone wanted to be them. The realities of having your face in the papers and magazines each week are such that no sane person would wish for it or even wish it on their worst enemy. Fame, fortune, recognition just put you under the constant scrutiny of people who feel they have the right to know each moment of your life. As if you life is their entertainment.

With each year that passed from the Last Battle, Hermione hoped that people would lose interest in her. Unfortunately, the fates did not agree with her request. Being part of the Trio that Triumphed, especially the only female in that Trio, gave the newspapers and those less than quality publications the right, in their view, to intrude on her life. It did not help that over the years her hair calmed down, she grew into her body, and with all the life she had lived found an air that drew people to her, did not help. She was, in fact and contrary to her school days, stunning. Not in the way that a person would think of a model, but rather more like those classic Hollywood actresses. Like Katherine Hepburn she had a confidence, intelligence, and style that made her distinct. Like Grace Kelly, she could command the attention of a room simply by entering it. She was the sort of person people flocked to and she just had enough of it. She did not ask for such attributes, in deed, she did not realize she possessed them. For all her grace, charm, and magnetism, she still felt awkward and unsure.

Hermione was in her up stairs bedroom changing from her old clothes she lounged around the house in, to more appropriate clothes for a night out with her friends. Her entryway was on the opposite corner of the house and the lower level so she did not hear the familiar pop of someone apparating.

The young man knew he was early and if Hermione was not downstairs yet, she was getting ready. He went to make himself comfortable for the wait, which he knew would not be long. In his mind, Hermione did not need to spend time making herself presentable, she was always gorgeous. He always thought so, even when he was a prat back at school.

Finally having realized the pleasure of reading, though he rarely admitted it to Hermione, he went to the study to find something to read while he waited. There was not an ulterior motive, how would he possibly know what he would find? Seeing an open book on the desk, he walked over to examine it. He read the open pages without realizing what it was.

There was no pause between the instant he finished the last line and instant he turned and began to look for Hermione. He took the stairs three at a time, using his long gangly legs for all they were worth. He did not think about what he was doing and maybe this once that would be a good thing.

She had not shut the door to her room. She had expected to be ready long before any of her friends arrived. She knew that the boys were always late; even Ginny could not make Harry arrive on time.

He flew through the doorway. She gasped and thanked whatever gods or wizards or witches were watching over her that she was at least partially dressed. The blouse she had pulled on at least covered what absolutely needed to be covered. But the top two buttons were undone and beyond the shirt, not much else was helping her at this moment.

"They don't know you. They can't know you. All that rubbish they think they know is the mask you wear to protect yourself. There are only a few of us that know you. We are the lucky ones. We are the ones who know you have danced on a table. We know that you were sober, despite what you say otherwise. We know that you love to shop for clothes, though you claim it is a waste of money and time. We know that you like to wear dresses and be all girly, though you claim it is rubbish. We know that you are so fiercely loyal that you will punch someone in the face and show no remorse. We know that you can hold your liquor and we know that you love to dance. We know that you love being a Healer. We know that when you have to tell a patient horrific news or share tragedy with a family that you are so devastated you nearly make yourself ill and need others to help you through it."

She stood, still in her room looking at the man who had stormed into her room. For the briefest moment she considered letting her wrath fall on him as he had obviously read her journal. However, the shock of the words she heard prevented her from uttering a word or moving the smallest fraction.

"But mostly there are things that only I know. I know that you use your frustration and get argumentative to cover up your true feelings. I know that you may have these bouts of doubt and frustration, but that you are still happy and optimistic. I know that you tuck your right leg under you when you sit on the sofa reading each night. I know that you curl your lips in over your teeth, stick you tounge out, and bite down gently when you are trying to figure out what to write. I know that you are the only reason that I made it through all the perils of our youth. I know that you have hidden feelings from the rest of the world for ages. I know you think I am a git, a prat, an idiot. I know that this doesn't matter because I know when it comes to the end of the day that you love me. And I know that you will forgive me for being a git and a prat. And I know you will forgive me for saying something I should have said years ago. I love you. I love that you have a wild side. I love that you take care of others. I love that you pretend to hate it when others take care of you. I love that you, for once in your life, have absolutely no ability to argue with me right now. I love that I am standing here telling you I love you for the first time."

Here the man finished, looking immensely proud of himself and uncharacteristically in control of the situation. He leaned against the door frame as he crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the flabbergasted woman in front of him.

"And I love that you have no idea how much you want to snog me senseless right now," he concluded with the impish grin that she knew so well.

After a moment, he crossed the room. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He looked at her. Then he leaned down and simply kissed her.

Despite the declaration immediately preceding, he did not snog her senseless. Somewhere along his life journey, the man's emotional range had widened. He wanted this moment to be perfect, though it was most assuredly not planned. So when he kissed the only woman he has ever truly loved for the first time, it was gentle, soft, full of promise.

She did not respond immediately. He was nearly to the point of questioning his previous belief in what he knew about her feelings. Then he found her responding. She was timid and shy initially. Then the passion that had once slugged a boy, caused infamous rows in the common room, and driven the Trio when energy and hope failed, found its new focus.

When they begrudgingly broke apart, precipitated by a need for air, he tucked that errant hair back behind her ear again.

"I love how your hair does that," he whispered.

"I love that you know me, better than anyone else. I love you, too," she said.

The man then swung her up and twirled her around the room. Downstairs, the new couple's best friends arrived. Hearing the squeal that Hermione had let out when she was tossed into the air, the young woman with red hair said, "Hun, there is no way that I want to stick around here. Something is or is about to happen in that room. As I am fairly certain it involves things I do not want to see or hear, I hereby declare tonight is a date for just the two of us."

Her raven haired husband had a look of fear in his eyes. As he caught on to what his wife was insinuating, he turned a bit green and quickly replied, "Yup, we are out of here. They won't be missing us." They then apparated out, just a moment after they arrived.

Back upstairs, the young man was still spinning Hermione around. Somehow he was coordinated enough to intersperse a few kisses with the spinning.

"I think you need to stop turning me around otherwise this very romantic moment will turn very revolting very quickly," she rushed out in between kisses and laughter.

She was put down gently on the edge of the bed. He knelt down on the floor so he would be at her eye level.

"Hermione, you are the most amazing person I know. You are the most important person in my life. You are the love of my life. You."

"I love you too, you prat," she said as she tousled his shockingly red hair. "Why couldn't we have said this all years ago, Ron?"

"See, you're not a know-it-all. Hermione, we were kids. It took me four bloody years just to figure out you are a girl. We needed to grow up and get over the chaos of the war."

"So where do we go from here?" she asked him.

"We'll figure that out. Together. And with absolutely no bloody reference to anyone else. But where ever we do go from here, you will daily be reminded how unique, wonderful, and beloved you are."

"I guess your emotional range does expand beyond that of a teaspoon," she said with a deadpan face.

"Why you…" his sentence was cut off as she kissed him again. There was no hesitation and her fiery spirit that matched his hair came out in full force. It no longer mattered whether all those nameless faces thought they knew her. Her friends know the real her. And now there is the man she always loved who loves her. And he knows her. Better than anyone.


End file.
